At Trader Joe’s, buying a bag of Holistic Natural Canine Formula, whatever that is. The dog seems to like it.
The checker asks me, “Do you want a bag for the cat food?”
I say, “Yes, but it’s actually dog food.”
“Oh sorry,” he says. “I saw ‘canine’ and I guess I thought ‘feline.’”
“There’s a picture of a dog right on the bag,” I say.
My son and I walk into Trader Joe’s . . . there’s a big sign that says “KIDS! Find the hidden dragon and win a prize!”
“I’m going to find the dragon,” the boy announces. “I bet it’s at the free sample stand.”
Not surprisingly, it’s not at the free sample stand, but while we’re there we’re able to drown our sorrows with some free baked bean and hot dog samples . . .
It’s a white Lexus SUV. This leads to hilarious mixups like my son approaching a line of cars after school and getting into the wrong one by mistake, and my wife and I standing in the Trader Joe’s parking lot trying to figure out why we can’t unlock “our” vehicle . . .
I’ve got my son and one of his friends with me at Trader Joe’s. They start off by grabbing some roast beef and panini at the free sample stand.
Later, when I’m in the checkout line, they wander off, I assume to go outside, but it turns out they went back for seconds on the free samples.
“You guys are an embarrassment!” I say. “The free samples are supposed to be one to a customer, not all you can eat!”
“I don’t think she saw us the first time,” my son says. “So it’s okay.”
“Jesus, I can’t take you guys anywhere.”
The free sample stand at Trader Joe’s has pizza squares today. They look delicious!
Unfortunately, there are only two left and just ahead of me is a woman with a toddler in her shopping cart.
I’m thinking Just take one and leave one for me but no, she takes both, hands one to the toddler, who immediately drops it face down on the floor . . .
My wife loves to keep bags from the grocery store. Why does she love to keep bags from the grocery store? Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better if you haven’t been drinking tequila all afternoon like I have.
My son walks into the kitchen . . .
He says, “We’ve got enough bags here to open our own store.”
“Good idea!” I reply. “You know what we’re going to sell? All the crap laying around in your room.”
“For a second,” he says, “I thought you said ‘crack.’”
“Crack . . . hey, that’s a good idea too! Ordinarily, you want to buy crack, you’ve got to go hang out on a street corner in some undesirable location. We’ll bring upscale ambiance to the crack business. ‘Paper or plastic?’ Who would suspect you’re toting crack around in that Trader Joe’s bag?”
I’m waiting in line at Trader Joe’s while the checkout guy engages the woman in front of me in a conversation about her groceries, her occupation, where she went to school . . . it’s not even a particularly long conversation in terms of elapsed time . . . the guy just talks so fast that he’s able to cover a lot of ground.
Personally, I don’t like conversing with service personnel unless they’re attractive women, and even then I don’t like it that much.
OK, my turn. The first item out of the basket is a package of dog chews.
“What kind of dog do you have,” the guy asks.
I decide to try a little verbal jiu jitsu and say “We don’t have a dog. You ever try those things? They’re really good.”
It doesn’t even slow him down.
“Do they clean your teeth?” he asks. “I bet they do. We’ve got ‘em in mint flavor, you know . . .”
